You're No Good For Me
by Hannaadi88
Summary: Alfred had never wanted to face Arthur again after the man had cheated on him. Prison hadn't been on his to-do list either, but somehow he had managed both. (From the Kink Meme, UKUS)
1. Prologue

So far, the day Alfred had traded in his designer jeans for orange overalls was one of the worst days of his life.

All through the trial he had been sure that he would be acquitted. After all, with the best lawyer in the state at his side and an influential father in the business industry, the odds had been in his favor from the start.

Only that things hadn't worked out the way he thought they would. At first, the only charge brought against him was the illegal possession of drugs found in his bedroom. As the trial progressed, it became clearer to the jury that not only had Alfred possessed the drugs, but he had lied about where and how he obtained them.

When they heard about his involvement in his _boyfriend's _dealership, well, even the best lawyer in the country couldn't have gotten Alfred out of that mess.

A three years sentence and a fine ranging in the thousands was considered nothing in comparison to what he could have gotten. Still, for a good boy like Alfred, any kind of prison sentence was an irreversible blemish on his otherwise spotless record. His parents, who had supported him from the start, stopped talking to him when they found out about Antonio. Alfred supposed that he had been lucky to even stay in the closet with Gilbert, Matthew and Arthur before him.

Especially with Arthur.

Arthur with his countless piercings. Arthur with a tattoo of a crown on his ankle. Arthur, with his a pack a day lifestyle. Arthur with his drunk buddies. Arthur with his bad attitude and dirty mouth. Arthur, who would have laughed at a measly three years sentence.

And yet, he had been the same Arthur who teared up at cheesy love songs when he thought that no one was looking. Arthur who had owned every Shakespeare collection he came upon. Arthur, who had nursed a black eye and a broken jaw after protecting Alfred from a gang of bikers with only a metal bar. They hadn't even been dating at the time.

Arthur, who's breath had been hot hot over the shell of Alfred's ear. Arthur, who covered every inch of Alfred's skin with open mouthed kisses and gentle bites. Arthur, who called him his darling as he slowly entered him for the first time. Arthur, who's lips brushed the back of Alfred's hand whenever they parted.

Oh, Arthur Kirkland had been a dream come true. That was, until he became Arthur son of a bitch Kirkland who fucking cheated on him with some Asian freak he'd met at a party.

Alfred wasn't sure who had landed the first blow, but he had left for his parents' house the night they'd broken up with a bloody nose. His nose hadn't been hurt as much as his pride. For the most part, he had simply been shocked- that had been the first time Arthur had ever raised his fist at him.

He had gone through three boyfriends and a handful of one night stands since Arthur, but no one had ever gotten close to the standard Alfred had mentally measured them by, despite swearing to himself that he didn't want to associate with anyone like Arthur. Two years had passed since Alfred had caught Arthur making out with Kiku, but the betrayal still stung.

And there he was, organizing his few possessions in his assigned cell when he heard an all too familiar bark of laughter from the hallway. Alfred froze and watched with wide eyes as the most hurtful ghost from his past walked by his cell without noticing him, green eyes locked on his conversation partner.

Screw that. This wasn't the worst day in his life so far. This was the worst day of his life, _period._

* * *

So I'm actually really slow and didn't realize that I can post my kink meme fills on other platforms. Now that I'm sure that I'm allowed to share, I'm planning on posting them here and on ao3 :) I'd love to hear what you think, dear readers!


	2. Sticks and Stones

It was only a matter of time until they would stumble across each other. Alfred knew that at some point, he'd turn a corner and walk right into Arthur what with his brilliant luck.

He dreaded it.

As someone who usually threw caution to the wind with a smile on his face, Alfred felt exhausted from his constant worrying. He wasn't used to running scenarios in his mind, wondering how each one would play out in reality.

Agonizing over how Arthur would react was the worst part of the worry package.

It was one thing to come up with various attitudes for himself to use during the inevitable encounter. He even thought of one liners ranging from furious accusations to heartfelt sobs, widely depending on his mood at the time. Some of his own reactions didn't even include conversation- the 'ignore and walk away' strategy was rather popular in Alfred's mental cinema for the first few days. There had been a moment, though, when he had contemplated strangling the man.

But again, Arthur's reaction remained an alarmingly unknown factor.

Would the man ignore him? Would he even remember him? One would think that after playing hockey with Alfred's tonsils he would vaguely recall him, but Alfred couldn't be too sure. It had been a few years, after all, and he obviously hadn't meant as much to Arthur as the man had meant to him.

There was a possibility that Arthur would laugh in his face id Alfred said anything vaguely emotional (be it in anger or in pain), but Alfred chose not to dwell on that particular option. He didn't think he'd be able to stand it, which was why he didn't bother to plan any kind of counter move. Immediate rejection would be a reenactment of their breakup, which was painful enough to simply remember.

However much he dreaded their meeting, after a week in prison with neither hide nor hair of Arthur, Alfred couldn't take the waiting any longer. The emotional turmoil he had brought on himself the moment after he had seen Arthur walking down the hall past his cell was driving him mad. All of that on top of his awkward adjustment to prison life equaled to living hell as far as Alfred was concerned, even with Antonio showing him the ropes.

As the second week progressed, Alfred found himself wandering down empty hallways when the prisoners were allowed a walk outside. He recalled how Arthur preferred to have his own space and tended to distance himself from the crowd when he felt like it. During meals Alfred would walk around the tables, deliberately running his eyes over the bent heads and stalling whenever he came across blond.

He even told the guards that he would be interested in learning how to play a musical instrument, if possible, as he remembered how Arthur would strum his guitar absently as he smoked.

Despite his efforts, Arthur was nowhere to be found. Alfred would have been forced to believe that he had imagined seeing his ex walk past him if not for Arthur's name being tossed around so frequently among the other prisoners. As the man himself was apparently scarce, Alfred made a point to learn as much as he could about him just from listening to conversations.

Allistor, a Scottish man in his late forties who had been sentenced to life for murder, told Alfred passingly as they were playing cards that he was lucky that he wasn't playing Arthur, or else Alfred would have surely lost.

From an Italian with a bad temper Alfred learned that Arthur was an utter bastard who had ratted on the man's friend who had been smuggling shanks in order to be on the warden's good side. Apparently, a drug lord needed a well bribed guard to smoothly run his operations.

Alfred had not been expecting the last bit. He had known Arthur to be a violent drunk and to wear studded leather jackets, but a drug lord? A gang leader? That was taking it too far. Sure, Arthur had been somewhat involved in gangs while they had been going out, but he had avoided confronting him about it.

Now that Alfred looked back, he didn't think he had ever met Arthur's friends. Aside from his lone encounter with a ragged group of people (who Arthur had fought with for him), Alfred's experience with gangs was extremely limited.

Apparently, Arthur had been very busy during the last few years judging by his repertoire. In fact, he had somehow managed to establish himself as a local legend. Nobody knew for sure what Arthur was in for. Some whispered that he had been apprehended with a quartered body of a prostitute in his car. Others waved off the rumors and claimed that he had been caught cheating with false tax returns.

Whatever it was, Alfred was left with more questions than with answers. The Arthur he used to know was a different man from this cold, calculated and cruel leader who was imprisoned within the same walls as him.

If all of what he had heard was true, and that Arthur was indeed a changed man, was there any point in facing him?

Alfred might have worried about being humiliated after an encounter with Arthur, but he had never thought that he would have to worry about his _safety _as well.


	3. Eyes Where I Can See Them

Alfred's interest in Arthur hadn't faded per say, but it did cool off as the days passed by without any sign of the man. Once the seed of apprehension had been planted in his mind, the need to confront his mythological ex was reduced to a mere whim. If Alfred were to pass his sentence without speaking to Arthur even once, he wouldn't be too broken hearted. At least that's what he told himself.

Now that his obsession with Arthur had been reduced, Alfred's mind was busy fumbling with the notion of prison life. He had been able to put off his brooding more or less while he had been chasing after Arthur's shadow but now that his chase was faltering, he had much more time than before to stare at the bars of his cell.

Alfred couldn't help but feel that it was all one big waste of time. He could have been finishing his university degree, applying for internships, pursuing a career. Instead, he was stuck in a building for the next few years, not very much unlike school. The only difference was that school had been a stepping stone everyone had to jump through. Prison was a complete setback.

It wasn't like he didn't know what he was doing there. Alfred had even been aware that he would be facing a sentence should he have been caught. Being aware and actually knowing the risk were two different things, though. He had _thought _he knew what he was gambling with, but life had proven him wrong.

He hadn't taken into account that he wouldn't be able to wake up when he wanted to. He hadn't been aware that his time outside would be carefully monitored and limited. His time just wasn't his own anymore. No privacy, no freedom of anything... even food was a problem. Alfred couldn't eat what he wanted, or even control the amount. They weren't starving him, of course, but Alfred sure would have liked an extra piece of chocolate cake.

The lack of productivity was what drove Alfred off the wall the most. There was nothing he could do about it, though, or about his cramped muscles screaming for a good run. His only outlet were the people around him. He never would have associated with them in the past, but beggars couldn't be choosers. The more he got to know them, however, the more Alfred realized that they weren't the monsters he had thought they would be.

Well, most of them.

Alfred was slowly learning how prison life worked. It wasn't a complicated system, but it was built almost completely on territorialism and pride. Not unlike high school, really. It was all about who you knew and how others perceived you. One had to be careful who he was aligning himself with. On the other hand, if you didn't have someone looking out for you, you would be an easy target.

If there was one thing Alfred was good at, it was at making friends. Not everyone wanted to be his friend, though. The groups in prison were strictly divided by race, and groups didn't usually socialize with one another. There were exceptions, however.

Alfred found himself engulfed in a small group of cheerful young men who enjoyed laughing just as much as he did. They were a mostly Latin American group, but after Alfred had been bunked with Antonio he hadn't had too much of a problem joining them. There had been raised brows at first, but soon enough Alfred had become a familiar face.

With their help, he learned in which line to stand if you wanted to get extra meat balls with your pasta. He learned who to ask for a set of cards and what brand of cigarettes to give him in return. He learned who to avoid and who to nod at when he walked in the hall. Alfred was even taught in which stall to shower in to get the strongest flow.

And that is where Alfred was now, facing the wall and closing his eyes. The warm water felt good cascading over his head and down his back. He had an easy time getting used to the public showers- the high school locker room had taken care of that. Alfred surmised that as long as he didn't have anything to hide or to be ashamed of, he didn't care who glanced as people walked past him.

All too soon the water was shut off and the order to finish up echoed against the walls. Alfred sighed and turned around, heading for the towel stack next to the door. As he stood in line he could hear whispering but didn't pay any attention to it- it wasn't smart to meet someone's gaze in the shower.

Some of the men there had a short fuse and could easily be provoked. An innocent look might be interpreted as a leer. A fight would probably ensue and Alfred wasn't keen on losing his scant privileges.

He dutifully took the towel that was handed to him and followed the rest of the inmates to the locker room, wrapping it around his waist as he walked. His clothing were where he had left them, thankfully, and dry as well. If he had made an enemy, his underwear would have been stolen or shredded. Antonio had shared with him enough horror stories to keep Alfred in line when he wasn't with him.

"...No Gareth, twenty will not be enough. You'll have to find some other way to come up with the money by Wednesday. This is already the second time I've granted you a delay and there won't be a third. Ivan here will be happy to help you cough it up if you have any trouble, won't you, Ivan?"

Alfred's fingers stilled over the buttons of his jumpsuit. Despite what Antonio had said about minding his own business, Alfred couldn't help but turn his head ever so slightly in the direction of the accented voice.

Across the room to his right stood three men. One man, assumingly Gareth, was hounded against the bench, still in his underwear. His pale face was doing its best not to betray his discomfort but was doing a terrible job at it. In front of him were two other men, both blond. Alfred could only see their back, but he could easily recall the face of the shorter of the two.

The taller man, Ivan, was leaning toward the cornered man, whispering something in his ear. If possible, Gareth's face paled even further. He met the shorter man's eyes and nodded mutely.

The man straightened his shoulders. "Very good. I'm glad we have reached an understanding. Until Wednesday, then. Come along, Ivan."

The two men turned and started to make their way toward the exit. Alfred quickly diverted his eyes and lowered them to the ground, but wasn't fast enough. The short man had caught his gaze and narrowed his own eyes at him. He stopped a few steps away from him.

"Do you find something entertaining?" he snapped, signaling for Ivan to stop as well.

Alfred felt his hands go numb. _Shit._

"Sorry," he mumbled and turned away from them, gathering his towel and soap into his arms. Before he could make a quick exit, he was pushed to the wall and his belongings fell to the ground. The bench pushed against the back of his calves painfully.

The taller man, Ivan, was smiling at him glacially and pinning his wrists over his head. The other blond stepped forward and frowned.

"What was that? It's rude to mutter, you know. Your mother should have taught you some manners."

Without thinking it through, Alfred lifted his head and met the other's eyes squarely over Ivan's shoulders. "At least I have a mother, _Arthur_."

Arthur's eyes narrowed before they widened in shock.

"Alfred?"

When he didn't answer, Arthur ordered Ivan to back off. The bulky man released Alfred's wrists and took a step back, not without looking between the two other men in mild confusion. Alfred, in return, pushed himself from against the wall and bent down to collect his scattered items.

Arthur wouldn't let him go so easily, though. He and Ivan still blocked his path.

"What are you doing here, Alfred?" Arthur insisted, more bewildered than anything else. Alfred's presence had apparently caught him off guard. He kept looking Alfred over, frowning and deepening the crease between his brows.

"What is anyone doing here? I have a sentence to serve."

Arthur shook his head. "That's not what I meant. What happened? What are you in for?"

"Drugs," Alfred said curtly, making a move to leave. "Illegal possession. Can I go, now?"

The two men wouldn't budge.

"But _why_? The Alfred I knew wouldn't break the law like that. What were you thinking?"

Alfred bristled. "Well, the Arthur _I _knew wouldn't cheat on me with some fucking drunk at a party, but I guess we were both proved wrong, weren't we?"

Alfred could almost physically feel the heavy silence which followed. Arthur looked at him for a long moment, a flicker of anger crossing his face before he pursed his lips and stepped back.

"Get out," he said quietly.

Alfred didn't need to be told twice. He squared his shoulders and walked toward the exit, refusing to look back.

He had a feeling that the next time they crossed each other, he wouldn't get out of it as easily.


	4. A Spoonful of Sugar

Antonio was waiting for him when he finally made it back to his cell. He had been lying on his cot with his head resting on his forearms, busy reading something, but when Alfred settled on his own bunk with a dull thud, the man looked up to smile at him.

"The guards must like you to let you stay in the shower for an extra five minutes," he commented, turning a page in his book. "I hope they don't like you _too _much. I don't like sharing."

Alfred shook his head. When the state had sentenced his boyfriend to the same prison as him, most people might have thought that they would have been constantly at each other's throats. After all, Antonio was the reason why Alfred had been imprisoned in the first place. If he hadn't had introduced him to the world of intoxication and ultimate highs, Alfred would have been finishing up college.

The thing was, it was exceedingly difficult to remain angry with Antonio for long. His big smile and laid back manner made you want to sleep at his side, not stab him in the back. The fact that he was wonderful in bed was just a nice bonus to a perfectly friendly personality. Alfred secretly suspected that the man didn't know how to handle anything but a cheerful mood, which was why he probably got into the drug dealing business in the first place.

He wasn't boyfriend material, though, which was the reason why Alfred had broken up with him just before the police had raided his room. Antonio wasn't very big on exclusive relationships and didn't last long, being tied down to one person at a time. However much he enjoyed fooling around, he disliked the thought of his various partners being with anyone else.

Freeing Antonio from their relationship was freeing himself to pursue a more healthy one, or so Alfred had thought. Somehow he found himself returning to the man's bed time after time, be it from loneliness to a need to release some of his built up frustration from the trial. Antonio never said no when Alfred dropped in and demanded he hold him. In return, Alfred never said a word when he saw his ex flirting with girls half his age.

No strings attached. Or so they liked to think.

"Nah, they'd never give me an extra second even if they were fucking me on the side. I was just...talking."

Antonio would have most likely gone back to his book if not for the false pitch in Alfred's voice. He turned his head to fully look across the room at his cellmate, cocking his head to the side. "Just talking?" he repeated.

Alfred ran his fingers through his wet hair, combing the darkened strands distractedly. "Well, yeah. What are you, the inquisition?"

The other man lifted himself up into a sitting position, looking amused_. _"Luckily for you, it's my day off. Still," his tone turned serious, "something is bothering you, _querido_. What happened to that pretty smile you had on earlier today?"

Alfred's fingers stilled. "Remember that guy who cheated on me?" he said slowly, training his voice to remain as stoic as possible. "Y'know, the one who smoked a lot?"

"Arthur, right?" Antonio nodded, knowing better than to ask what he had to do with Alfred's vanished smile. "The bastard you kept mentioning."

"Yeah, him. Well, apparently he's also here and kind of well known."

Antonio's brows were raised impossibly high in an almost comical manner. "Wait, Arthur as in Arthur _Kirkland_? That scary guy with his henchmen following him around? You used to be _together_?"

Alfred nodded. Antonio looked scandalized.

"But how?"

"He used to be different," Alfred shrugged, looking absently at the other inmates passing by the cell bars. "Anyway, I ran into him just now. It wasn't pretty."

Antonio let out a low whistle. "I can imagine. What did he do when he saw you?"

"He didn't recognize me at first, actually, but when he did he kind of looked surprised and let me go. His man would have beat me up otherwise."

They sat in a contemplative silence for a bit, Antonio breaking it with an inquisitive look. "Now that he knows you're here, what do you think he'll do?"

Alfred was wondering the same thing. "I dunno. I'm gonna try avoiding him if I can. Don't want to start up with him again, to be honest. He hurt me real bad."

It was Antonio's turn to nod. "Keeping a low profile is probably the best thing to do," he agreed. His lips curved into a soft smile as he patted the space on his cot next to him, inviting Alfred to join him. "That wasn't very pleasant for you, was it?"

"No," Alfred replied, easily falling into routine as he settled down next to the other man and had an arm draped around his shoulders, pulling him close. He closed his eyes as he felt a pair of lips press against the crown of his head comfortingly.

"It wasn't."

.x.

It seemed that now that Alfred had finally encountered Arthur, their paths had inconveniently intersected. Be it the dining hall or the rec room, Arthur was always there, talking in low tones with his companions and every now and then sneaking a glance at Alfred when he thought that he wasn't looking.

But he was.

Alfred wasn't the only one who had noticed the change. Antonio had developed a habit of walking around with him more than usual, sticking to his side more often than not. He was always there to crack a joke when Alfred's smile wavered or to run a hand suggestively down his back when Alfred's attention shifted to the other overwhelming presence in the room.

He wasn't sure if he felt grateful to Antonio for being there for him or if his attention was border lining on overbearing, but he was thankful that he hadn't have to face Arthur again or one of his cronies alone.

Antonio couldn't always be with him, however, and fate had it that when the man decided to spend some time with the Italian he had introduced to Alfred earlier, Arthur managed to corner him alone.

The courtyard was relatively empty when the man sought him out and those who had decided to seek the sunlight turned a blind eye to the intimidating man and his followers. Alfred frowned when Arthur sat down next to him on the step but didn't dare to get up and walk away- he could see Ivan in the distance keeping a watchful eye on him.

"The sunshine is a wonderful change from the downpour we've had this week," Arthur struck up conversation, most likely doing his best to keep it casual. Weather was a safe enough topic, Alfred supposed, and he replied with a noncommittal shrug.

Arthur took his silence in stride.

"I know that being cooped up inside for a long period of time makes you agitated, which was why I got you this," he dug his hand into his pocket and took out a small bar of Hershey's. "You still like this brand, don't you?"

Alfred eyed the chocolate bar in shock, raising his gaze to look at the other man questioningly.

"Why are you giving me this?" he asked, frowning. There was no such thing as a free gift in prison.

Arthur gave him a small smile. "I feel like we got off on the wrong foot the other day in the showers. Consider this a peace offering."

Alfred glanced back down at the chocolate silently. It had been an awfully long time since he had eaten a chocolate bar of any sort, much the less his favorite brand. The fact that Arthur remembered his preferences was surprising. He didn't know what to make out of it.

Where had he gotten it, anyway? The commissary hadn't stocked up on Hershey's in months.

"Go on, take it," Arthur prompted, handing it to him with a glint of mirth in his eyes. "I promise you it isn't poisoned."

Alfred was tempted, and would probably have taken it from Arthur's hand if it weren't for a familiar voice calling out to him and snapping him out of his chocolate craving. He stood up and waited for Antonio to reach him, making no comment as the other wrapped a hand around his waist protectively.

"Is everything alright here?" Antonio asked him, though looked straight at Arthur. "Do you want to go?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes and stood up as well, setting the chocolate down on the step. His eyes flickered to Antonio's hand on Alfred's waist before meeting his gaze squarely. "There's no need," he said crisply, shaking his head at Ivan, who had started to make his way towards the small group. "We were just leaving."

As Arthur turned to leave, Alfred couldn't help but look down at the chocolate.

"What about the Hershey's?" he blurted, oblivious to Antonio's tightening grip. "Aren't you going to take it with you?"

Arthur paused and looked at him blankly. "No, I have no need for such rubbish. Feel free to take it, if you like." He waited for a moment before curling his lips into a grim smile. "Only you know how long it's been since you've had some sort of pleasure. Certainly not at his hands," he nodded at Antonio.

"Good day."

Alfred knew his companion was gritting his teeth as they watched Arthur walk away, joining Ivan as they reentered the building. After a few moments of silence Antonio let go of him and Alfred thought he could hear him swearing in Spanish under his breath. As he began to head back toward the building as well and noticed that Alfred wasn't following him, Antonio stopped and turned his head back.

"Well, aren't you coming?"

Alfred shook his head, shooting the man a smile. "Nah, I think I'll stay here for a while longer. You can go back in, though."

Antonio shrugged and turned, leaving him behind. Once he was sure that the other wasn't about to return, Alfred sat back down on the step and looked at the chocolate bar quietly.

Arthur had obviously procured it for him from wherever it was he had gotten it, as he didn't take it back for himself. It would go to waste if it were left to melt in the sun.

Looking about him, Alfred supposed that there wouldn't be great harm in tasting it. After all, it had been meant for him, and it had been so_ long_ since he'd had a proper treat.

Just a bite...

Just a bit more...

Alfred was left holding the empty foil in his hands.

_Damn._


	5. The Road to Hell

Standing silently in front of his cell while having it overturned was not an experience Alfred thought he'd be able to forget. He could hear the carefully stretched sheets being torn away from the mattresses. Something hard hit the floor with a loud thud- yep, that would be his book. Alfred flinched. It would be his luck if his newly purchased novel from Amazon was torn before he could even read the back.

Antonio caught his eye from the other side of the bars and winced sympathetically at him, followed by a small smile. He had spent a few weeks longer than Alfred had spent in prison and it so happened that this was not his first search. Alfred smiled back, but his palms felt sweaty even after he wiped them against his pants.

He knew there wasn't any reason for him to be nervous. The guards were running a routine search for smuggled goods and Alfred was pretty sure that Lord of the Rings was mostly legal. His room would be a mess, sure, but it wasn't anything a few minutes of organizing wouldn't fix. He wasn't being singled out. The guards would finish going through his and Antonio's things, nod gruffly at them as they'd leave and go on to the next cell.

The sound of chaos stopped abruptly and a low voice mumbling 'gotcha' made Alfred's breath hitch in his throat. Antonio had been halfway into a thumbs up with his hand already curled into a fist when he was roughly grabbed from behind by one of the guards. Another guard followed him, walking out of Alfred's cell with a small bag in his hands and a grim smile on his face.

Alfred's eyes widened as he saw the content of the bag. White powder. After all of the months he had spent with Antonio, he'd recognize crack anywhere.

He immediately turned his head to stare at his cellmate, who had lost some of his coloring and was shaking his head fervently as the guards confronted him. There wasn't much he could say in his defence, though, the guard who held the bag pointed out. Not when they had found the drug underneath his mattress.

The next moments passed in a blur. Antonio, protesting loud enough to draw a number of curious looks from nearby convicts, was being led forcefully down the hall to what no doubt was solitary confinement. Being left with no instruction, Alfred waited until he couldn't hear his friend's frantic voice anymore before relaxing his shoulders and walking back into the cell, assessing the damage.

His room looked as if a strong gust of wind had passed through, but all Alfred could see was Antonio's shocked face as he was grabbed from behind and shown the little white bag. Alfred had never seen the other so scared, not even when he had seen him during the trail. It unnerved him. Nothing but a wide and lazy smile suited Antonio's face. Anything else was discomfortingly unnatural.

With the way the man had craned his neck to look at him as he was being led away, Alfred couldn't help but believe it, that "I have no idea how it got there, I swear! I was framed!".

One thing he knew for certain. Antonio would never have lied to him. Not about smuggling drugs. A stolen kiss, a quick fling in the showers? Yes. But not about this.

It left only one option, that the man was telling the truth. That he had been framed.

That didn't make any sense either. Antonio was about the most well tempered and easygoing man Alfred had ever known. He was friendly, open and generous. Who would want to frame him? What could they possibly gain from it?

It felt as if his energy had been sapped from his very veins, gone with the adrenaline rush from the previous commotion. Suddenly, setting the cell in order didn't seem to matter anymore and it was all Alfred could do to lift his mattress back onto his bed and sit down, running his fingers through his hair.

It just didn't make any sense.

.x.

The empty table at the end of the room had the only available seat Alfred could find. Spending the night agonizing over Antonio hadn't done him any favors, but never had the thought occurred to him that Antonio was not the only one affected by the recent turn of events.

If bad luck was contagious, Alfred was being treated like the plague.

He had tried to sit down at multiple tables but the glares and firm shakes of the head told him that, well, he wasn't wanted. Not with Antonio's crowd, with whom he usually sat during meals. Not with the other groups of whites. Hell, even the rejects table made a point of crowding the bench so that he wouldn't get any ideas.

Dejectedly, Alfred had found a small unoccupied table in the back and resigned himself to the fact that he would be eating alone until Antonio was released from solitary. He set his tray on the dull white tabletop and picked up his fork, twirling it absently in the day's pasta special. How the prison cooks managed to even ruin something as relatively simple and tasty as that was beyond him.

"Is this seat taken?"

Alfred looked up to see Arthur standing at his side with a tray in his hands and a smile on his face. He was gazing at him expectantly, waiting for permission to join him, but Alfred had a hard time saying 'yes'.

It felt wrong, even as he nodded his head grudgingly and watched warily as Arthur inclined his head and seated himself opposite him at the table, taking his time to arrange his utensils.

He felt guilty. Antonio was wasting away in some dark room while Alfred was eating a (relatively) normal lunch with someone the man strongly disliked. Still, after being rejected from every other group in the room, Alfred was in no position to say no. Especially since somehow, he felt like he didn't really have a choice.

"Where are your cronies?" he finally ventured, putting down his fork and glancing down at his yoghurt, wondering if the kitchen staff had managed to ruin it somehow as well. Alfred couldn't stand the silence. Not when he knew that there must have been a reason for Arthur to choose to sit at his table.

Arthur, who didn't seem to be in any hurry to answer, raised his eyes from his tray and shrugged. "I do not need them with me at all times, you know. I'm quite capable of managing by myself."

No, he had better avoid the yoghurt as well. "Bullshit. You don't go anywhere without that giant trailing after you."

A languid smirk formed on Arthur's lips. "You mean Ivan. I'll admit, he does come in handy when certain people need..._ persuading_. I do not spend my whole life plotting, though, contrary to what you may believe."

Come to think of it, that was exactly what Alfred had thought. He frowned. "What do you do when you aren't making plans to dominate the world, then?"

Arthur actually chuckled. "I'm human, Alfred. I do what I fancy. Currently, I am sitting and talking to you."

"Human? It wasn't very 'humane' of you to cheat on your boyfriend."

Arthur's smile disappeared and was replaced with a heavy silence weighing down on them both, or so Alfred thought. He had half a mind to just pick up his mostly full tray and dump the contents in the trash bin on his way out when Arthur reached over to grab his arm, stopping him from standing up.

"Is that all you're going to eat?" he pursed his lips, quickly running his eyes over Alfred's tray. "You haven't eaten anything. I do not know if you have decided to adopt some silly diet fad, but not eating is sooner going to land you a trip to the hospital than on the front page of GQ."

Alfred pulled his arm away. "What I eat is none of your business. If you must know, I'm just not really hungry."

It was almost comical the way Arthur's brows shot up his forehead. "Alfred Jones, not hungry? I never thought I'd live to see the day."

"Fuck you," Alfred grit his teeth and stood up, ignoring the stares as he unceremoniously emptied his tray and placed it with a bang on the rack next to the bin.

His ex boyfriend insulting his eating habits was the last thing Alfred had needed on what was already turning out to be a pretty screwy day.

.x.

As it turned out, meals weren't the only times in which Alfred found himself alone. He had been convinced that he had made friends but he must have done something wrong because no one was willing to play cards with him or sit next to him in front of the t.v. Inmates he had shared smiles with before now refused to meet his gaze and on top of it all, he was _hungry._

For the life of him, Alfred couldn't figure it out. Had he been so reliant on Antonio for fitting in that the moment the other was gone, he had to start over?

Judging by the chill he was getting from the mass of cold shoulder treatment, it looked like he would have to hone his people's skills.

Socializing had never been hard for him. In fact, spending time with a group of friends always left Alfred feeling energized and buzzed in the very best way. Approaching strangers in Starbucks and leaving with their Whatsapp contact info had been his specialty.

How different could chatting up newcomers waiting for the coffee machine to work be from getting to know people sipping at their designer lattes?

.x.

Well, at least he tried.

Flashing smiles and engaging in conversation was apparently not the best way to make friends in prison. It had worked for him before, true, and it sure as hell had worked for Antonio, but for some reason his bright eyes earned him more lewd remarks than friendly handshakes. In fact, Alfred could have sworn he had heard Romano sniggering behind him just before Alfred pushed away a burly man with an anchor tattoo.

Honestly, from when did 'how is your day goin' translate into 'please fuck me over the table'?

Still, he hadn't expected to be shoved against the wall. His head knocked against the plaster with a thud and screamed bloody murder at him. Alfred tried to pull away from the hands clutching his collar in a choking grasp, but the small semicircle which now surrounded him blocked any possible exists.

"What the hell," he gasped, scratching at the constricting hold. "Let me go!"

The gruff laughter which followed didn't bode well. He was slammed against the wall again, hard enough for Alfred to feel nausea pooling in his stomach. Just fucking great. If he ends up puking on the guy, it wouldn't be his fault.

"You're in no position to be making any kind of demands, fag," the man pressing him against the wall slurred, the humor gone from his voice. "Not after what you did."

Breathing was slowly growing into a struggle for Alfred, who glared with watery eyes at his assailant. "What are you talking about?"

The man clicked his tongue. "Don't play coy. You should be thankful if anyone ever sticks their dick in you after all of your whoring around lately. Of course," he added, cutting off Alfred's cry of denial, "you wouldn't need to be batting your lashes at everyone if you still had your boyfriend. He's not here to cover for you no more. Not after you snitched on him."

Alfred didn't even bother to reply. Instead, he stared in confusion, furrowing his brows and coughing when the hold became even more constricting. Maybe if he just blacked out he would be left alone.

"What, not going to argue? Figures. Fucking weak, that's what you are," spittle hit his cheek. "What did you get for telling on Antonio, eh? He was nice to you, and you repay him by framing him? If my buddy gets extra time for this little stunt of yours-"

"Terribly sorry, gentlemen, but I must ask you to unhand him immediately."

The hand at his throat went rigid and Alfred looked up above the ring of men to see who the speaker was, though he'd recognize that voice anywhere. And yes, there Arthur was, flanked by his men and wearing a fake smile.

Anyone with a bit of sense would have apologized and backed off at that smile, but the man holding Alfred must have felt the need to fight, as he refused to budge. "What the fuck do you care, Kirkland? This has nothing to do with you."

"On the contrary, this has everything to do with me," Arthur replied cooly, nodding at (Ivan, was it?), who stepped forward. "Now, unless you wish to spend the rest of your life eating through straws, I suggest you let him go and walk away."

Alfred could feel the hold slightly loosen. "You're bluffing."

"Do you really want to find out?"

A pause. Then, ever so slowly, the man released Alfred and took a step back, squinting at him before turning around and making his way out of the room. As if on cue, the rest of the men followed him, leaving Alfred and Arthur's party alone.

Alfred's hand immediately went to his neck, massaging the sore skin and swallowing thickly. Aside from a few bruises and a scratchy throat, he imagined he'd be fine. Better off than the state he would have been in if Arthur hadn't stepping in to intervene. Who knew how long it would have taken the guards to show?

"Are you alright?" Alfred raised his eyes to see Arthur standing in front of him, frowning.

He shrugged and turned to leave, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. "The polite response would have been to thank me," Arthur snapped, shaking his head. "I just saved you from a pretty heavy beating."

It was Alfred's turn to shoot the man an agitated frown. "The guy was right, it was none of your business. I could have managed it on my own."

Arthur raised his brows and looked like he was about to quip one of his witty answers, but Alfred beat him to it. "Look, next time I want your help, I'll fucking ask for it. Just... leave me alone."

He didn't get a chance to see Arthur's expression before he turned on his heel and left, but something told him that it would have been disturbingly similar to when Alfred had slammed their apartment door and swore that he would never see the man again.

But somehow, the thought didn't make him feel any better.

* * *

Here you go, an update for one of my favorite verses :) This wasn't beta-ed aside from my own editing, so I wouldn't be surprised if one of you found some mistake I missed, but overall, I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to hear what you think about the recent developments.

Either way, have a wonderful day, and a very happy 4th of July to all of you American readers!


	6. Yours

Alfred sat down on his bed with a small huff. The white walls felt like they were closing in on him in a way that made his chest hurt. Or maybe it was the sight of the empty bed opposite him- he couldn't be sure. Antonio had been down in solitary for over two weeks.

How did it feel to be all alone, enclosed in a small room with no distractions whatsoever? Alfred couldn't even start to imagine what it was like. The thought that Antonio was stuck in a place like that made Alfred shift uncomfortable on the bed. A person as lively and cheerful like his cellmate wouldn't last long in solitary and with no indication that he was going to be let out soon.

Then again, prison management never let on anything. Alfred could be transferred the next day and probably wouldn't be told about it.

Comparing his own troubles to Antonio's predicament seemed selfish, but Alfred couldn't help but dwell on his own loneliness. He was lucky to be surrounded by other people and to at least have the option of starting a conversation with another inmate, sure. With the way his conversations did go, though, Alfred wondered if Antonio was getting the better end of the deal.

Option or not of conversation, there was very little of it ever since his run in with Randal. Alfred had only learned the name of the man who had pinned him to the wall later that evening, but he made a point of otherwise ignoring him. He didn't want another confrontation, nor did he want to have Arthur intervene on his behalf in anything else. There were already enough rumors flying about than he cared for.

It wasn't like he heard about it from a friend, either. Rather, inmates would pass by his table at lunch and make obscene noises that reminded Alfred of bad porn videos he used to watch as a teenager. Other harassment included choice phrases that made their way to his ears during the day, such as 'Kirkland's bitch'.

So no, Alfred wasn't exactly engaging in stimulating conversation. Nobody wanted to be seen with him- not even Arthur, to whom he supposedly belonged to. Then again, he hadn't parted on the best of terms with the man the last time they spoke, so perhaps Arthur was just keeping his distance like Alfred had asked him to.

Maybe he shouldn't have been so harsh. True, Alfred had been stressed and in pain, but Arthur _had _rescued him from worse. He should have at least thanked him.

Now it felt like all he could do was wait for Antonio's return while in the boring safety of their bunk. Honestly, if he didn't go out for a change of scenery, Alfred was sure he was going to lose his mind. Self imposed solitary confinement wasn't going to help his friend or get him out any sooner.

There wasn't anywhere to go, though. There wasn't anyone to talk to.

"Alfred?"

Except for gang leading exes, apparently. Weighing his options, Alfred slowly straightened up on his mattress and turned to look at the bars, which were still open at this time of day. Arthur, who was surprisingly companionless, was standing there and most likely doing his best not to sound too interested.

God forbid Arthur Kirkland gets rejected again.

Still, Alfred supposed he had made his point by not speaking to the man for over a week (though it wasn't for a lack of trying to find him). Arthur presented an opportunity to talk and frankly, Alfred was getting desperate.

Maintaining a begrudging front, Alfred raised his eyes to meet Arthur's and tilted his head. "What do you want?"

Arthur looked uncomfortable. "I was wondering if you were free to...talk."

"Talk?" Alfred blinked, trying not to look too eager.

"Yes, I have been meaning to have a chat with you ever since...well, you know. May I come in?"

Alfred waited for a moment before waving toward Antonio's bed. "Yeah, sure."

He waited as Arthur stepped into his cell, watching as he took in his bare walls and sparse furnishing with a wrinkle of distaste before seating himself on the very edge of Antonio's bed. "I am assuming this is Carriedo's bunk?"

Alfred nodded. He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms against his chest guardedly. "You said you wanted to talk?"

"Yes," Arthur spread his palms on his knees and met his gaze firmly. "I wanted to apologize. I realize that I have been going about this wrongly, and I would like to make amends."

Alfred didn't bother asking what 'this' was. He was far more interested in the apology. Arthur had never apologized to him before. Small gestures of kindness as a way of asking for forgiveness? Sure. A straight out 'I'm sorry'?

Never. Not even after he had given him a black eye.

"What are you apologizing for?"

Arthur seemed to stiffen, and then with what sounded like great difficulty- "I am apologizing for cheating on you," he said quietly, averting his gaze. "That was wrong of me, and I had no reason whatsoever to hurt you in that way. That is why," the confidence returned to his voice and his eyes flickered back to Alfred's face, "I would like to make it up to you."

Alfred knew that he was supposed to respond, but his mind was busy processing Arthur's words. He hadn't expected Arthur to bring up _that. _He had been thinking of more recent slights Arthur could have apologized for. Going back to that night at the club was a bit too raw for him.

Arthur waited, though, silently watching him as he contemplated. It was a bit unnerving to have the man's intensive eyes on him as he thought and the quiet wasn't helping.

He wasn't at all done with thinking it through, but Alfred couldn't bare another moment of awkward silence. "How?" he blurted, leaning forward. "How are you going to make it up to me?"

Arthur visibly brightened. Swiftly, he reached out and grabbed Alfred's arm, prying it away from its fold and circled his wrist gently as he pulled it toward him. Once he had Alfred's hand in his grasp, Arthur drew it close to his lips, his breath warm against his skin.

"By taking care of you," he answered softly. "If you will let me."

Alfred swallowed thickly as his knuckles were kissed briefly, unsure of how to respond to that. Arthur seemed to take his silence as one, though, to which he smirked and ever so slowly rewarded by taking Alfred's index finger into his mouth. Alfred gasped and started to pull back, but Arthur's hold on his wrist was firm.

Resigned to watch and feel (more than resigned, really), Alfred's eyes were trained on Arthur's lips, which sucked on his finger. He could feel the other's tongue all over his digit, wonderfully warm and wet. The suction around his knuckle wasn't helping the heat he was sure was spreading across his cheeks and when he raised his eyes to see Arthur's intense green studying him with a glint of arousal, Alfred knew he was done for.

He yanked his arm sharply from Arthur's grasp, who looked surprised for a split moment before smiling knowingly as Alfred pushed off of his bed and settled on his lap. Arthur himself was propelled back and hit the wall, but he didn't seem to mind. Even if he did, his mouth was too busy fitting against Alfred's to protest.

Alfred had always loved Arthur's kisses. They were passionate and warm, not unlike Antonio's. The one thing that his cellmate lacked, however, was the possessive demands of Arthur's tongue and his hands, which found his back and supported him like years hadn't passed since their last embrace.

Alfred's hands were all over the place: cupping Arthur's face, holding him close, fingers tangled in his hair. Arthur took it all in stride, never moving his hands from Alfred's back. They did, however, inch lower and lower with every meeting of their lips until they rested heavily on Alfred's hips.

They shared a short look before Arthur delved forward and latched his mouth to Alfred's throat. Sliding into habit, Alfred craned his neck to allow the other easier access, which he immediately took. Alfred was trying to regulate his breathing as he felt a sharp nip near his sternum and a wetness licking the pain away.

His hands settled on Arthur's shoulders. "What are you doing?" he breathed, his eyes fluttering closed when he felt the other exhale on the now sensitive skin.

"Marking you," Arthur said simply before returning to the spot with his lips, sucking on it intently. "I want to show the whole prison that you are mine."

Alfred's eyes flashed open and he pried himself away. "No I'm not."

"Yes, you are," Arthur said steadily, snaking one of his hands from Alfred's lower back to his front, grabbing at his crotch and grinding the heel of his palm against the hardening flesh. "And now everyone will know not to mess with what is mine."

With a low keen, Alfred bucked his hips against the other's touch, digging his fingers into Arthur's shoulder blades. However, after a long and delicious squeeze, Arthur withdrew his hand and held Alfred at arm's length (as far as he could while keeping him on his lap, anyway).

"I need you to say it," he prompted him in a low tone. "Say that you are mine, and allow me to provide for you."

Alfred looked between them, his breath heavy and his eyes lidded. There was nothing he wanted more than to just give in, to go back to the days he felt secure and loved. Go back to when he'd had his first highs and fumbling drunken lovemaking. Return to the lazy mornings after when his head felt like it was about to burst, but it was okay because _Arthur _was the first thing he saw when he woke up.

He was lonely. Bored. And for the first time in what felt like months, properly aroused.

"Okay," he conceded, his eyes eying Arthur's hand longingly. He scooted forward on Arthur's lap and ground his hips against the other's, grinning wickedly as he felt the telltale hardness form underneath him. Arthur wanted him just as much as he did.

"I'm yours."

* * *

This chapter is short, but I thought it deserved its own chapter :') What do you think? I'd love to hear from you!


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